“Isn’t that exactly why they need us in there, sir? We all know they’ve been fudging their crime stats for twenty years; it’s only a matter of time before the drug gangs move back in. There’s no way the NOPD is going to be able to handle them.”

Mackiever watched Forrest closely as he spoke. “Ninety-eight percent of the criminals who left are still gone,” he said, “and with the projects locked down, they haven’t got much to come back to.”

“They’ll be back, sir. Most of them went to Houston, and the Texas justice system is a whole new reality for them. They screw up over there, they get serious prison time. No … they’re coming back.”

“Well … that’s a matter to be worked out between the NOPD, the FBI, the DEA, the BATF, and the district attorney’s office. We cover the state, not New Orleans. I want your assessment to make the case for us staying out of there, and I’m going to review it as soon as you’re finished.”

“Sir, I wonder if your chief of staff wouldn’t be better suited to write this report.”

Mackiever had a strange expression where he scowled with the lower half of his face while his eyes told you he was just playing with you. He used that expression now. “I know your feelings, Knox. And I wouldn’t have chosen you for this, if it was up to me. But the governor asked specifically for your opinion, as chief of Criminal Investigations, so I’m going to give it to her.”

“My opinion?” Forrest echoed, feigning ignorance.

“That’s right. Some heavy hitters in this state seem to think you might make a good replacement for me after I retire. But until that day, I’ll treat you as any superior officer would.”

“Which means?”

“When I want your opinion, I give it to you.”

The colonel got to his feet and walked out, leaving the door open behind him.

“Bastard,” Forrest muttered. He got up and closed the door, then returned to his desk and lit a Marlboro in violation of regulations.

In truth, Mackiever was right. The drug gangs hadn’t yet started to return, and if Forrest had his way, they never would. He’d already taken advantage of the storm to eliminate a few dangerous witnesses and business competitors. He’d been well paid for some of those actions, while others he’d carried out to settle personal scores. His cousin Billy’s meth operation, for example, would run unchallenged for at least a year in the southern half of the state. But Forrest had far bigger plans, and if his patrons wanted state troopers patrolling the streets of New Orleans, he’d do his best to give them that.

Thinking of Billy brought the informant’s phone call back into his mind. Taking out his secure cell phone, Forrest called Alphonse Ozan.